Violent Cosmic Symphony

“But it doesn't.” You bit out. He had kissed you first all those weeks ago after nearly getting himself killed. Desire was hot in your blood when you collided bodily into him after finding the idiot unscathed apart from bruises and scrapes. It had been hours since he had disappeared with a throng of vigilantes on his hide to keep you safe; his heaving chest, the grime on the bridge of his nose, a too-casual comment about you being safe now — you wanted to dive under the coat until no one could tell you two apart. You didn't, though. You controlled the hormones for his sake and comfortability. He was the one to grabbed you by the chin as only some lusting lover would and hauled you over to his mouth.

“You kissed me, Vash, and then you go and say. . .”

“Wait.” He had spoken after you had just begun to sink into the moment and take his insufferable sunglasses off. His grip was sure, firm, when he stopped you. The pause where he held you pinned beneath his gaze made it seem like he didn't know what to say. Seconds passed. His eyes searched your features for an answer to your questions and confusion. Somewhere, he found it. “They might have followed me back. I should make another lap.”

Lap around what? The impatience he'd just had to get to you, touch you, be on you, had been swallowed back behind his eyes. Pitifully, you did what you could to protest: “Wait, your wounds—”

“I'll be back in an hour. It's late, get some sleep.”

So you figured he considered the kiss a mistake — a moment of ferocity after the tension of near-death — and you backed off. Shorter conversations, less time in the same room, some of your own sad excuses in an attempt to create space, quash the giddy crush already rooted deep behind your heart. You tried to be an adult and move on like a big girl.

“I come to the conclusion,” you said to the sleeping man on the cot, god, you still felt the adoration for him deep in your marrow, “that you're not interested, right? Because you said nothing when I pushed you away. You did nothing. Okay. Fine. Then when I had an infection from the bullet hole you fished out of my arm, and those raiders held the entire town hostage for two days until you stormed in, and they killed that mom's newborn baby right in front of me, and we got chased out and I still had the baby's blood on my face and the infection was getting worse and we didn't think I'd make it through the night.”

You breathed to get the overwhelming feelings in check. “You wiped my tears, you kissed my forehead, you rocked me to sleep, you told me you loved me. I guess that could be, like, a platonic love, but come on! You can't blame me for reading into it!”

Despite you increased volume there was no sign Vash had stirred. The connection he had made with the plant must have really taken a toll.

“So at this point, I'm thinking you're interested, right? We've held hands a few times at this point, gone on, like, what I consider dates and stuff. Great. You're done being wishy-washy and you've decided to try this thing out. We go slow, I figured you're just a little nervous, but we're making out, and I make sure to leave your sunglasses alone this time, and then. . .”

Your lips buzzed faintly at the memory. Who knew what led to the tension this time, you couldn't remember, but you'd never forget the gentle care he took with you. Something about messing with his sunglasses was a trigger, so you left them alone and figured you'd just work with the rims pushing against your cheeks. He was showing you a caressing kind of affection that worked you open from the inside out. You wanted to give him everything. Every fear, every trauma, every blemish. He, too, seemed to let himself give into the raw feelings quickly bubbling up. His grip on you got tighter and pulled you closer. The kisses grew faster and their strength forced you to lean back. You could feel his abdominals quiver where you fisted his shirt.

His warm, wet tongue reached out and moved along your bottom lip, causing the faintest sound to break from your throat. Just like that, the moment shattered. Vash grabbed your shoulders and held you at arms length. He kept his face obscured, ducked down and away, but you could hear the quiet gasping as he struggled to catch his breath. You called to him only to be interrupted: “Have to - feed the tomas.”

He had made for the door without sparing you a single glance and he shut it just as quickly. You waited, processed the moment and your thoughts, maybe yelled or cried or punched something. He didn't return until the next morning, breakfast in hand and fake smile plastered too-clearly on his lying face.

Shifting bedding caught your attention. Vash moved a little in bed, bringing you back to the present. You didn't realize your hands were clenched tightly into fists.

“So by this point, I'm like, really confused. You let the kiss last that long, you go for the tongue, then push me away. Like, fool me once, but fool me twice? At this point, as I hope you can understand, I'm pissed. If I were meaner, I'd punch you in the stomach right now and wake you up. Then, last week, you're all protective when you have no right to be. Why you got mad, I still have no idea.”

Frankly, he had every right to get mad. No good, low life, dirty pricks had cornered you on the way back to Vash and co. after an errand run. If their sleezy gazes and crude humor didn't get their intentions across, the invading hands and the guy who tripped you and got over top of you definitely made things clear. Your scream was blocked by a hand over your mouth and nose, the thrashing was futile, and when your fear began to lock up every joint and muscle you had, the tables began to drastically turn. Vash's stark golden hair and whipping crimson coat brought such a powerful sense of relief to you that you nearly fell limp. Until the real fun began.

Vash didn't speak, or shout, no, he growled. Roared even. He used his cybernetic hand to punch and throw and strangle. Gone was the gentle pacifist you'd grown familiar with, replaced instead with a creature so potent with rage he'd become unrecognizable. The perpetrator was lifted up by the front of his shirt and smashed unceremoniously into the concrete building. He gagged when the cool nickel of the a gun barrel was forced into his mouth without hesitation.

It took you and Wolfwood using every ounce of strength — pulling on his arm, shoulder, coat, anywhere you could reach — to wake him up. Even then, it was only when Vash descended from his savagery upon hearing your cries that he let the guy go. For his part, Vash did seem ashamed to have done it after the fact, but Wolfwood was still sure to give him a lashing.

“What would you have done if you'd actually killed him? Huh?! Answer me!” He'd said, cigarette dangerously close to falling from his teeth.

“I wasn't going to shoot—”

“With the look you had, I'm not so sure! Look, I don't care what you do or don't do to get some action, but the next time you get caught up in your emotions, I'll be putting a gun in your mouth.”

You tried to get Vash's eye after the exchange, but he opted for averted gazes and brooding silence. Wolfwood made you think: did Vash get like that because of you? Your first instinct was scoff, think back on all the times he rejected your advances or backpedaled his own, but you had to admit, he had a talent for reading people. There was also the incident just a few days ago, after you'd been unconscious for more than a day following a nasty run-in with bounty hunters. Getting thrown off a cliff would do that to you.

Vash was gone when you'd come to. Meryl had send him away to bathe and rest while she took watch over you. She tried to keep you, she really did, but the near-death experience put fire in your veins; you weren't going to risk dying anymore without getting answers from him.

His door was unlocked when you threw it open. All spice and vinegar, you exploded into his room, intent on unloading every ounce of angst and confusion he'd caused you, only to freeze solid.

You noticed the minefield of marks on his back just as you took note of the pristine muscles underneath them. They flexed and rolled when he turned to you, locked up when he saw who it was. He bounded for you just as you stepped towards him. You'd only intended to pull him close, assure him you didn't care how he looked, enjoy a moment in life spent with him, but again, he was the one touch his lips to yours. Mmmm, maybe touch was the wrong word.

His teeth clanged off yours with the force of his advance. You didn't mind. You didn't have much of a mind with the way he grabbed onto a hip and pulled you impossibly closer to his body.

With difficulty, Vash contained himself enough to get a few words in. “You're okay - mhm - you're okay. Let me just - get a shirt, so you don't have to—”

“You thought I cared about scars, Vash? Oh god, I wanna see you, wanna feel you—”

At least, you figured his reaction meant his past rejections had been because he didn't want to show you his body. Foolish. One of your thumbs caressing an old knife wound on his abs and he began to put space between you. Like an idiot, you fought back. You called to him, pleaded, tried to fight the arms pushing you rapidly towards the door. What had you done wrong? What did you do to deserve this? Why was he doing this to you? You asked him all of it and got smokey replies in exchange.

“I just - I can't - not right now - just, you didn't do anything wrong. Please, I'm glad you're okay, but go—”

Wood slats and metal bolts slammed shut on you, knocking against your nose. It was like it shut out your emotions, too. All you could do was stare numbly, unmoving, at the wear marks and hatching staring you down when it should have been his eyes. A wave of desperation crested under your muscles. BAM. The door shook with the power of your fist. It stung now. It would throb later. You didn't bother to care.

“Coward!” You cried.

Vash's lonely sigh could be heard from the other side. You didn't move, knowing you'd sleep outside his room, ambush him whenever he decided to emerge, if it meant you could get him to answer for the thorns piercing your chest.

“I know I am.” He said, words warbled by the door but still distinguishable. “I am a coward. I'm hurting you and its the last thing I want.”

“Then. . . why?” You weeped.

“I'm not. . . I'm not what you need.”

“Is this because you think you're not good enough? Vash, you're the kindest, most compassionate person on the face of this planet. I want you. I want you.”

“You don't know that.” He cut in.

Your anger returned fearsomely. Didn't know? You didn't know what you wanted? This prick — this stupid, beautiful, arrogant prick, thought he could decide what as best for you after all the shit he caused. Intelligence: insulted. Feelings: disregarded. Autonomy: stripped. Trust: obliterated. He'd brought you in, pushed you out, then had the audacity to make it your fault for getting angry. Fuck, maybe he really was a walking calamity.

“You don't know me. Maybe you would have, but you don't. You won't, either.”

A quiet snore from the man sleeping in front of you broke through the memories. After what happened with the Humpback, Livio, the Bad Lads, and the plasma cannon, you didn't have the same coursing fury as you had just the other night. After seeing him with the plant, after seeing what he was, after learning so much. . . you were at a bit of a loss.

“I get it now.” You said to the empty air. “You don't want to be with me. Lust, hormones, they made you slip up, but you'll wake up, push me away, pretend it never happened, because I'm a human, right? Something like you would never want to be with something like me.”

The emotions took hold of your throat until it was hard to breathe and clawed at your eyes until they watered and you had to shut them tight to keep from having a complete meltdown. Near-death experience? Check. Unrequited love? Check. Felling the simultaneous crush of insecurity and self-loathing because you feel both inadequate for the man you're in love with and too stupid to have seen it sooner or looked out for your own emotional health before it was too late? Triple check.

Synthetic fingers pulled at your clenched fist to try and get your muscles to relax, to stop your fingernails from making painful divots in your beautiful skin. “I'll always want you.” Vash said.

You looked into his eyes taking you in with a soft affection you refused to acknowledge. No. Not again. He wouldn't lure you into a trap so easily this time. Seconds passed as you grew more mortified with the situation. Was he awake the entire time?

“How much of that. . .”

“I think I really started listening when you mentioned platonic love.”

Though it was a joke, the thumb casually brushing over your knuckles brought you back to the seriousness of the moment. You jerked you hand away hastily.

“You'll always want me? Stop kidding yourself. If you had an ounce of respect for me, you'd care about my opinions. You wouldn't push me away, string me along, put up this fake persona and act like everything's okay when you've hurt the person you say you care about.”

You stood to leave only for his flesh-hand to reach across to secure your wrist. “It's not because you're human, it's because I'm not.” When you turned back, surprised and mute, he continued. “I know I've been horrible to you, I know I don't deserve you or any second chance. . . but. . . I need to show you. If you'll let me.”

His words gave truth to what you had seen: he wasn't human. You were hesitant; not because of what he was, but because of what he did. But you knew, above all else, you felt safe. When he had grabbed you, not a single cell in your body recoiled or shied away. Vash had never once given you any reason to fear him.

This kiss was far gentler than before, but felt even more intense. He took his time, pushing back the lust in favor of something more real, more permanent. Vash pulled you open in a way that gave you the chance to end it whenever you wanted. The back of his knuckles caressed you cheek. This time, your heart clenched in an entirely different way. When you finally got the self-control to pull back. . . the sight was surreal.

Abstract glyphs began to glow and pulse from under his skin. Back and forth, a winding mosaic deeply embedded, on his chin, nose, and neck and in his eyes. Even the pupils were lit with a soft blue light. When he brought your hand to hold his cheek, the light show shined brighter and pulsed more excitedly where you skin touched. “I didn't want you to see this. Normally the markings only show when I'm-” he paused to swallow “-in contact with another plant. They've never shown up around a human before. And I can't control it this time — I tried, when we kissed before. I can't stop it, and I didn't want you to find out the truth.

“I told myself I could have you and you'd never find out what I was. Dumb, right? I believed it could work if I did it just right. That's why I ran away or pushed you out. I was trying to keep it under control, but I could feel it coming to the surface. With you, I think my body feels some kind of connection.”

You were a little too awestruck by the bioluminescent spectacle going on to fully take in his words at first. When your hands moved down to hold his jaw, you could feel the intensity of his pulse under the fingertips skimming his neck.

“At least I'm not the only one.” You finally said.

Perhaps it was the relief, maybe it was that last wall of his coming down for you, but he knocked his forehead into yours and sighed in a powerful rush that had his whole body slouching into you.

“You have no idea how much I wan—”

“Come on kids, don't be giving each other diseases.”

You pulled away from Vash so sharply you would've fallen back off the bed had he not yanked you back to him. “Wolfwood!”

“So? Guess you finally grew a spine and told her about this whole plant thing?”

“Wait,” you stopped, putting the pieces together, “when did you find out?”

“You really think he'd sleep this long? Dude's been awake for hours.”

“What?!”